


The Flames Will Fly

by Sorin



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Friendship, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, that feel when you create a glamour specifically for a fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21684448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorin/pseuds/Sorin
Summary: The Crystal Tower has been opened at last, and you are well prepared to set into motion the events that will see your life ended- but countless more saved.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 46
Kudos: 59





	1. desolate

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are several of these floating around, but I wanted to try my hand at it, so- here we are :D;; I have no idea if I'll ever get to the ending, but I hope so, because I've already got it written out and I think (I hope?) you'll all like it... if I can just make it there!
> 
> Come yell at me on Twitter: @aetherstitch
> 
> and let me know what you thought there or in the comments! Thank you for reading!

The Crystal Tower.

You’d heard of it before, of course- who hadn’t? It was more or less the only structure in Eorzea that still stood without having taken some sort of damage, reaching glittering arms toward the sky and holding steady while the world fell apart around it. You joined the Ironworks in part to learn more about it, but in most because you’d heard about their eventual goal… and you can’t think of much worse than _this_ being allowed to continue on. It had been perfect for you, really- no family to speak of, nowhere to go, not much to set your mind to other than _survive another day._ You’re tired of doing that, tired of that being all you can think of, all you can aim for, and thus had your gaze turned skyward.

The makeshift camp that’s been set up in the ruin of what was once Saint Coniach’s Find is small and ragged, much like the band of people manning it. You are one of those, more of a guard than much else, though your hungry mind is always seeking new information, driving to learn new things- nothing is too small for you, and nothing escapes your notice. You are almost beside yourself with glee when you discover that the preparations to open the Tower are more or less complete, and you practically dance in place as you look at the heavy doors impatiently. The others are with you, and you have your sword at the ready, because who knows if this will work… and if it doesn’t, well, there are still the less savory citizens of Mor Dhona who would love to see you all dead so that you can become sustenance. You grip the handle of your greatsword uneasily, eyes darting back and forth, watching the night for whatever might jump out at you.

Up ahead, Biggs is calling out orders to the members of the Ironworks who are set on opening the doors. You’re not sure _how_ this is meant to work, exactly, only that it _is,_ but none of them are sure of their success- and that makes you nervous. You take a breath and let it out slowly, then press your lips together as you look around again.

“Sometimes I like to imagine what it must have been like back before everything went to all seven hells,” a voice next to you says- a good friend of yours, an elezen named Ilfoix, who wields a lance like it’s an extension of his body. “I wonder what this place looked like?”

You glance at him and smile faintly. “There are books that describe it,” you say. “There was an airship crashed in the middle of the crater there- that used to be a lake, by the way- with a dragon’s corpse wrapped around it. Remember?”

Ilfoix chuckles. “I know,” he says. “I remember. I’m talking about what they _didn’t_ write down, though. Were there trees here? I know there was a bog, but what sort of plants grew in it? Did the crystal formations take over the whole place before or after the calamity that unearthed the Crystal Tower?”

“I suppose I never thought about it,” you say, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve read the accounts left behind by NOAH- and of course, we know that one of them is sleeping inside.” You pause and look at the Tower warily. “… although I suppose it’s impossible to know if he’s alive or not. According to the accounts, he’ll wake when the Tower does. I don’t imagine he’ll be happy to see what’s become of the world.”

“Probably not.” Ilfoix shook his head. “It would be unfortunate for us to find that he’s furious with us, but…”

It would be, you think grimly. The Tower is your very last hope- yours, the Ironworks, _everyone’s_. You know that the Tower’s keeper and the Warrior of Light had been friends, and you can only hope that the man inside will be willing to help save them. “I suppose we’re going to find out,” you say as the ground beneath your feet begins to rumble. “… and _soon._ Look- it’s working!”

“By the Fury,” Ilfoix swore quietly, watching as the doors slowly began to swing open. “It _is_ working- we’ve _done_ it!” Cheers went up all around camp, and the lancer grabs you in a tight hug before grabbing your arm and smiling eagerly. “Come on! Let’s see what’s inside!”

You laugh and go along with him- his enthusiasm is contagious, and aside from that, you really _are_ curious. You’ve memorized the reports and logs from back then, and you are anxious to meet G’raha Tia- you just hope this won’t upset him too much. The reports made it clear that he’d gone to sleep in hopes of waking in a better future, and this… well… this was not that, that was for certain. You and Ilfoix join the others who are gathered outside the doors, and Biggs motions you over. “Good timing,” he says. “Ready to go inside?”

“More than, Chief,” Ilfoix replies with a sharp salute. “What of the device we used on the doors?”

Biggs gestures to two other researchers, who are quickly disassembling it. “We can put it back together if needs be, but if G’raha Tia re-seals the Tower… well. I imagine opening it again won’t change his mind. We just have to hope we’re lucky enough that he’ll help us.” He looked up at the doors, then back at them and gestured for them to follow. “Come on. The only way to find out is to give it a try, right?”

You and Ilfoix share a glance, but you both nod and slowly walk inside the Tower’s massive doors. The first thing you note upon entering is that everything _sparkles,_ and you find yourself briefly dazzled as you look around. The walls, the pillars, the _floor,_ everything is faceted in some way or another. Lines of gold filament decorate the crystal, looking like paths- or veins, you think uneasily- and you look up… and up, and up, and _up._

_Oh._

You very quickly look down again, closing your eyes briefly. You hate heights and you do whatever you can to avoid them, but in this case, avoidance won’t be possible. The only way to go is up, and you strap your sword to your back and start climbing. You will, you think somewhat acidly, have thighs of _steel_ by the time this is done with- because who knows where this sleeping Seeker might be, or what else the Tower holds? All _you_ see are _stairs,_ and stairs with no railings at that. Thankfully, at least, they’re very wide, and so you plant yourself solidly in the middle as the group ascends. You realize you hear running water, and you tilt your head, flicking one ear curiously before swiveling it toward the sound. You remember reading about the water crystals, and so you shrug it off and turn your attention forward again.

At the top of the stairs is a large landing, and more stairs branch out in different directions. Biggs looks around, then sighs and rubs his forehead. “Well,” he grumbled, “nobody saw fit t’leave us any sort of directions ‘round this place, so…” He studied them all, then shrugged. “No help for it- we’ll split up. It’ll take us too much time if we stick together, and the Warrior of Light cleared the place out. With G’raha Tia having put it to sleep, seems likely that we’ll be just fine. … keep your eyes open anyway, just in case.”

You nod and look at the stairs leading forward and up to the left, then look up at Ilfoix and grin, swishing your tail. “Well,” you say, “shall we?”

“Let’s be on our way,” Ilfoix says with a cocky grin. “I’m sure we can handle whatever comes between your sword and my lance.”

You hope so. You aren’t a pessimistic sort of person, but being born into a world like this one has taught you the value of being prepared for _anything._ “Up the stairs with us, then,” you say, and the two of you head up side by side. Ilfoix, being taller than you, is much faster- and being a dragoon gives him an added advantage. You grumble and jog after him, then finally stop and pant. “ _Ilfoix,_ ” you say, half irritated and half amused. “My head comes to your waist at best and I am wearing _plate mail._ Will you _please_ slow down?”

Ilfoix looks down at you in surprise, then grins sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m excited, that’s all- and besides, the top of the stairs are just ahead! I’ll meet you up there, I want to get a look.” He says nothing else, turning and taking the stairs two at a time, and you make a vexed sound before following him.

At the top of the stairs is a long hallway that seems to branch into several different directions, and you sigh a little and cross your arms as you come to stand next to Ilfoix. “Now what?” you ask.

“Well…” Ilfoix looks around, then shrugs. “I guess we wander- or we could split up as well.”

You don’t like that idea, but you have to admit that it’s probably the quickest way to get this done. “Meet back here if you don’t find anything, then,” you say. Ilfoix nods and claps you on the shoulder, then turns and heads to the left, which leaves you to branch toward the right. The Tower really is beautiful, you think, ears flicking a little as you look around. There are many doorways, but peering in them yields nothing of interest, and thus you continue along, your footsteps echoing in the stillness of the air.

You wonder what the Tower’s guardian is like. You wonder if he’d dreamed all that time he’d been asleep… you wonder what he’ll think of you, of _all_ of you, in your dented, ragged armor and clothing. He is from a far more prosperous time, and though the Ironworks is more or less well-equipped, plate mail isn’t easy to come by and you don’t have the gil to buy another set. Still, it’s serviceable, and you give it a somewhat self-conscious glance before heading on. Your boots are probably in the best shape out of your whole ensemble, but you know how patched together you look. Your hair has grown long and ragged, and you have it tied back with a strap of leather that you thankfully haven’t lost yet. You’ll cut it at some point, you tell yourself as you always do, but you have to admit it’s convenient to be able to just tie it and get it out of your way.

The hallway stretches on, and you’re about to wonder if you’ve somehow gone in a circle around the entire Tower when you come upon a plain set of wooden doors. Those seem somehow out of place in this glittering cathedral, and you tilt your head before slowly walking forward and putting your hand on one. You try the handle, expecting it to be locked, but it isn’t- it swings open easily, and opens into the most beautiful room you think you have _ever_ seen. Looking up at the ceiling you see constellations, and your lips part in vague awe- it could very well be the night sky, you think, but… well, you’re still indoors. You look around again, then pause when you see another door- this one ajar- on the far wall. Seeing not much of interest in this room save for the beauty of it, you walk toward the other- and _that_ is when you suck a shocked breath in.

Seated on the floor is a miqo’te who is probably around your size- that is to say, _petite_. He looks at you when you peek in, and you are immediately captivated by his eyes… bright red, like rubies. A smile curves his lips and he rises, ears wiggling happily. “Welcome,” he says warmly. “You must be part of the new expedition to open the Tower!” He goes to take a step, then makes a surprised sound when he steps on his hair- it is _long,_ you realize, longer than he is tall. “Azeyma preserve-! … well, I’ll have to take care of this before long.” He looks back at you and smiles sheepishly. “Forgive me. I just woke and am feeling a little disoriented, but- tell me, what year is it?”

He looks so eager- you don’t want to take a hammer to his heart. You _truly_ don’t.

“It’s the two-hundredth year of the Eighth Umbral Era,” you say quietly- and he stares at you, smile frozen in place before it slowly fades into a look of absolute horror.

“I-… I… forgive me, that can’t be- … the Eighth Umbral…?” He looks around the room as though something in the walls, in the _air,_ will give him the answers he seeks- and then he looks at you again, eyes wide. “What _happened?!”_

You clasp your hands in front of you, ears down. You have no good news for him, and you wish you hadn’t been the one to have found him- he seems kind, and you’d rather he not associate you with this mess. “Several things,” you say, “at least… as best as I or anyone else knows. There’s been a lot of research since the calamity struck, but insofar as I can tell, it’s because the First fell to the Light.” He looks at you blankly, and you continue, ears pinning tighter to your skull. “Just before the Calamity struck, there were negotiations between what used to be Eorzea and the Garlean Empire. The leaders of the Alliance hoped for a truce, but the Emperor’s terms weren’t something they could live with- thus, the war continued. Garlemald was beaten back by the Warrior of Light and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

His ears are pointed straight towards you, eyes wide and demanding. “So they won,” he says. “The Calamity was just… but- _how?_ The Source should have been in balance!”

“It should have been,” you agree, “but Garlemald wasn’t going to take their loss lying down- and so they deployed a weapon they called Black Rose, a gas that killed or corrupted anything and everything it touched. Ala Mhigo, Gridania, the Shroud, Thanalan, Coerthas… one by one the city-states fell to it, their populations dramatically reduced. That’s what caused the imbalance, and thus the Rejoining.” You pause, then look at him, ears still pinned. “I… wish I had better news.”

He takes a step toward you. “What about the Warrior of Light?” he asks, his voice breaking. “What about the Scions? Surely- _surely_ they did what they could to prevent it!”

You pause. “… I’m sure they tried,” you say softly, “but- Black Rose killed them, all of them- even the Warrior of Light. That’s why we’ve woken the Tower, because we want to _save_ them! We need your help, so… so please-!”

You are, you think, probably not the best suited for this particular job. Biggs should’ve been the one who found him, not you.

He stares at you, _through_ you, and his eyes fill with tears. He whispers a name, a name you recognize- that of the Warrior of Light- and turns away, hiding his face in his hands. You stand still and awkward, looking down and away to give him privacy- you consider leaving the room entirely, but he sniffles and takes a deep breath, then turns toward you again. “You want to save them,” he said, his voice wavering just a little- but his eyes are intent, _demanding._ “You said that’s why you woke the Tower. Tell me- what is it that I must do? I will do _anything_ to-!”

“W-well, I- you’ll want to ask the Chief,” you stammer, shaking your head. “I’m mostly around as a guard, but I’ve studied the Calamity and the events around it- and the Tower and Allag, too, what little I could find on it with everything in ruins. I only know the basic idea, but it involves the Warrior’s journey and the battles they fought against a Primal known as Alexander, who could manipulate time.”

He is quiet for a few breaths, then he seems to steady himself- he smiles faintly and nods. “Very well,” he says quietly. “I will do whatever it takes.” He bows his head, then looks at you again- _really_ looks. You feel extremely self-conscious and you shift a little, reaching up to tug on your braid- you do that when you’re feeling awkward, or when you’re deep in thought. You really should cut it, you think irritably, and force your hand down. “Well, this won’t do,” he mutters. “A solid blow will split your breastplate- and your chest as well. I may have something that can help, but- first, tell me your name?” He tilts his head, ears up and canted toward you again.

You tell him- what else can you do?- and he smiles and nods, says it in response.

“It’s good to meet you,” he says. “My name is G’raha Tia. Pray forgive me my outburst- I was… I was ill-prepared to learn of such a fate befalling them.” You can tell that he’s not even begun to process it, he’s just shoved it into the back of his mind to deal with later. He eyes the hilt that rises above your shoulder, a thoughtful look appearing on his face. “May I, ah, borrow your blade?”

“Oh! Uh- sure.” You unstrap it and hand it over, and he settles down again. You pause, then sit across from him and hold the hilt up, and he takes a fistful of hair and carefully brings it down on the blade. The keen edge cuts right through it, and he holds the lock up almost mystified before sighing and letting it fall to the floor. “I take it you didn’t know that would happen?”

He looks at you and gives you a wry smile. “I didn’t,” he says. “I wear my hair about as long as you wear yours. This is _too much._ ” He goes to the next fistful, then looks at you curiously. “You know of our expedition into the Tower, I presume?”

You nod. “NOAH’s records were all preserved,” you say with a quick smile. “Chief Garlond saved them for us. I’ve read them so many times that I probably have them memorized.”

“So you’re a scholar,” he says, sounding- and looking- very pleased. “Did you… did you study in Sharlayan? Is it still…?” He trails off.

“I didn’t,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “I don’t know if it’s still standing or not, you’d have to ask the Chief. Even if it were, though… the world doesn’t have room for scholars and dreamers. Not anymore.”

His brows come together and his lips purse- he is the very picture of displeasure. It’s almost cute, and your lips quirk just a little. “There is _always_ room for study and dreaming,” he says firmly, “at least here- and I’ll not hear otherwise.” He smiles encouragingly at you. “It’s both that brought you here in the first place, isn’t it?”

You can’t help but smile- his enthusiasm is infectious. “Yes,” you admit, “but not just on my part- there’s a whole group from the Ironworks looking through the Tower for you. … I just happened to stumble on you first.” You smile sheepishly and flick one of your ears. “I’m not really that important to the cause, as far as the wherefores and the how of it all. I just like to read.”

“Well, you’re here,” he says, tail swishing behind him as his ears wiggle- he’s happy, somehow, despite you being the bearer of awful news. “I think that says a lot. Once I fix the mess my hair has become, we can go find the rest of your group. The Tower is quite large, but I can teleport everyone here- and, well, truly, I have most of it sealed off as it is. We… that is, the Warrior…” He trails off, then marshals himself. “They cleared out the worst of it, but there are many side paths they simply didn’t have time to venture down.”

“Maybe we can work on it,” you suggest, tilting your head and flicking one of your ears.

He looks at you in surprise, then smiles brightly. “I’d like that,” he agrees, “but it sounds like we’ve a great deal of work to do ere we have the chance.” He slices off the last of his hair and sighs, lifting his hands and tousling it. “Azeyma be praised, I can hold my head up without feeling like my neck is going to snap. I’ll fix the rest later.” He rises and stretches, and you rise too, strapping your sword to your back and trying not to look at the long hair scattered all over the floor. He seems much happier, in any case.

A voice calls your name, and you smile. “Ah- there’s Ilfoix,” you say. You walk to the door and meet him in the lovely room- you’re glad to see him. “I found him- G’raha Tia, I mean.”

G’raha walks out behind you and smiles, lifting a hand in greeting. “Welcome,” he says, his voice just as warm as it was when he’d welcomed you. “Your friend has told me about your purpose in coming.” His smile fades as he looks toward the door, and his ears droop. “I admit that I almost don’t want to leave, though I know that I must. There are so many questions I have, and the answers will never be found within these walls.”

Ilfoix looks at G’raha in surprise, then sweeps a regal bow. “It’s good to meet you, Master G’raha,” he says. “I’m sure you already know that we’ve been looking for you.” He looks at you next, smiling in relief. “Honestly, I thought you got lost, what with your awful sense of direction.”

You huff. “I’m not that bad,” you say, shaking your head- but you are, and you know it, so you just sigh and smile wryly. “You can lead us back to the exit, then.”

G’raha chuckles quietly. “I’ll show you the way,” he says, looking at you with a grin. “Meanwhile, this is truly the only place the others can go, so- I’ll activate the teleportation units, and they’ll undoubtedly figure it out. Give me just a moment.”

When he goes quiet and still, Ilfoix looks at you curiously. “Will we make it, do you think?” he asks softly. You know what he’s asking- _will he help us?_

You smile quickly and nod. “We will,” you say- and you’re sure of it, for the first time since you joined the Ironworks. The hardest part had been opening the Tower, in all honesty… getting its keeper to help them had been the easiest thing they’d done yet.

After a moment, G’raha opened his eyes and sighed faintly, then turned toward them and wiggled his ears. “I’m certain they will notice that the teleporters have activated. Undoubtedly they will begin arriving soon. Until then, I’ve so many questions I barely know where to start!” He looked around the room, then smiled at them. “Why not start by telling me about the two of you? Where are you from?”

Ilfoix pauses. “Well,” he says, “I was born in Ishgard. My family has lived there for generations, and… it’s not in the best shape anymore, but people do still live there.” He smiles and lifts a hand. “So long as her people survive, so too shall Ishgard. The Fury watches over us, of that I am certain.”

“I always wanted to see Coerthas,” G’raha said, his voice a bit wistful. “I come from a place far to the north, and I tend to thrive in the cold.” He smiles and looks at you, ears canted forward. “What about you?”

You pause. “I was born in Thanalan,” you say, “but I grew up traveling.” That, you think, is a good way of putting it- it sounds far more romantic than _my father was killed before I was born and my mother had nothing, so we drifted from place to place as the weather and situation permitted._ You smile and shrug. “I joined the Ironworks a couple of years ago, and have continued traveling since then, but… well, lately we’ve been here, mostly.”

Before much else can be said you hear the sound of footsteps outside the door, and then in comes Biggs accompanied by two of the others. The Roegadyn man jumps a little in surprise, then looks at you and Ilfoix before looking at G’raha with a quick smile. “You must be G’raha Tia,” he said, then pauses and tilts his head. G’raha is staring at him intently.

“… Biggs?” he finally says uncertainly, ears perked and tail slowly swaying back and forth.

“Ah.” Biggs smiles gently and shakes his head. “Look that much like him, do I? I’m Biggs the Third- you’d be thinking of my grandsire, I imagine.”

G’raha’s expression falls just a little, but he rallies and smiles. “I am indeed,” he says. “He was a good man. Welcome, Biggs the Third- and all of you. I… admit that I am somewhat scattered at present, but pray be patient with me while I absorb all that’s happened whilst I slept.” He takes a breath and lets it out, then sets his jaw. “You’ve come to seek my aid to save the Warrior of Light, as I understand it.” When Biggs nods, G’raha smiles faintly. “Good. You have it, wholeheartedly. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them, and thus I am prepared to use the whole might of the Tower to save them if it’s possible to do so.” He tilts his head and flicks his ears. “You’ve a plan in mind, then?”

Biggs nods. “We do,” he says, “or at least, we’ve an idea of one. It will take more refining, and of course- your input as well. Chief Garlond dedicated his whole life to this cause, and it’s our job to see it the rest of the way through. We’ve plenty of time to discuss this, however- at least… a day or two before we really need to get to work as per his specifications.”

G’raha nods in return. “Very well,” he says. “I would like to see what- if anything- remains of what I remember.” He smiles faintly. “As I was telling those that found me, I realized that the answers to the questions I seek cannot be found within these walls. So… let us away.”

“Right, then.” Biggs nods to the others. “We’ll go back to camp and give him a minute to collect himself, then we’ll get to work.”

As the group of you leave the Tower, you hang back with Ilfoix, who looks a little troubled. You tilt your head curiously and flick an ear in his direction. “What’s on your mind?” you ask. “I figured you’d be thrilled, having gotten in and found him so easily.”

Ilfoix looks at you and smiles a little. “I am,” he agrees. “I knew when I joined the Ironworks what I’d be working toward- my eventual death, and that of everyone I’ve ever known… well, those who are still alive at this point. We’re one step closer to that, and… I don’t know- I’m glad for it, but at the same time I suppose I’m a little frightened now that the reality is setting in.”

You make a small sound of acknowledgement and look down as you two slowly amble down the stairs. You’ve thought on this a lot, and while you aren’t eager to die… you’re not sure you can call what you’ve been doing _living._ Seeing G’raha has put all of that into perspective- he _looks_ different, and not because of his crimson eyes. He looks _healthy._ You are too thin and you know it, all wiry muscle and not much else, but there’s rarely enough to go around and you are always the last one to fill your plate. You don’t want to see anyone go hungry- you would prefer to yourself, in the end. “I suppose so,” you say slowly. “I think it will be fine, Ilfoix- in the end, we won’t even know it, right? Everything will just… stop. It won’t hurt, which is far more than I can say for some… like Dezo’ir.”

Ilfoix shudders and draws a cross over his lips- Halone’s symbol, a gesture that he makes when something unsettles or upsets him. “I pray to the Fury that his is a quick passing,” he murmured.

It hasn’t been so far, you think grimly. If there had truly been mercy in the world, they would have found his body, not him clinging to life with gaping wounds on his torso and legs. “Maybe we should grant it to him instead of force him to linger,” you mutter.

The dragoon looks at you in horror, then presses his lips together as his expression becomes troubled. “… you aren’t wrong,” he finally admits. “He won’t survive much longer, and it seems cruel to keep him here. … he wanted to see the Tower opened, though, and now that it has been, perhaps he will simply let go.”

If he doesn’t, you think, you’re going to do it for him. Nobody else seems to have the stomach for it, but _you_ don’t have the stomach to let him continue suffering. You look up into the Tower, then back down as you reach the bottom of the stairs. “Well,” you say, “back into the world we go- let’s hope that Master G’raha isn’t too shocked at what he sees.”

As it happens, you note, G’raha Tia is indeed shocked- he looks around with an expression of horror as you crest the hill that overlooks where the lake used to be and the camp as well. He hisses quietly and leans back as though to ward off the sight, and Biggs steadies him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. You feel awful for him, and it’s clear Ilfoix does as well- the two of you walk back to camp with the rest, and neither of you says another word. Once you’ve all dispersed to your tents, you slowly sit down in front of yours and look at your campfire before sighing and reaching into your pack for your journal. It’s worn and somewhat tattered, but it serves its purpose, and you begin dutifully scribbling the day’s events. You are tired- you don’t know exactly how many bells you’ve been awake, but the number is higher than you like- and yet you want to get all of this down before anything dims your memory, even sleep.

You are still writing a bell later when you realize someone is watching you, and you look up in surprise. The surprise grows when you see ruby eyes looking back at you almost hesitantly, and you quickly put the journal aside. “Master G’raha,” you say, startled. “Is aught amiss?” You can’t think of another reason why he’d come to see you, especially by himself.

“Ah! No,” G’raha says quickly, lifting his hands and shaking his head. “Please- G’raha is enough. I hope you don’t mind my intrusion, I simply… well- you were the one who found me when I woke, and I wish to speak with you more, if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t,” you say- you’re _exhausted_ and you hope he doesn’t notice, because he looks _lost-_ and you feel bad for him. “Please- join me.” You scoot over on your makeshift bench- it’s a fallen log, but it serves well enough- and he smiles and sit down next to you.

“Thank you,” he says warmly. He is, you’ve noted, very handsome… his smile lights up the sky. “You were writing the day’s events, then?”

You nod, looking at your journal before looking at him and offering it to him. “You can look through it, if you want to,” you offer. “There’s nothing personal in it- I just write what happened.” You have another journal for your own thoughts and emotions, and _that_ you keep well-hidden. “I’ve recorded the events from the last year or so in here, and I’ve more back at our headquarters.”

G’raha takes it and smiles quickly. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll read through it.” He falls silent, then looks out toward the crater. “It’s very strange,” he murmurs. “To me, it was just yesterday that I was with all of them- that I swam in the lake, heard their voices, got into a water fight with- with the Warrior.” He falters a little and looks down.

“Back then, Mor Dhona was saturated with aether,” you muse, and he looks at you in surprise. You color a little and clear your throat. “Sorry. I’ve always been interested in history- especially regarding the time before the Calamity.”

“You’re a historian,” he says eagerly, eyes lighting up as he leans toward you a little. “So am I! Ah- although my knowledge is likely different from yours. I could talk about it for bells, and from the look on your face it seems you could as well!”

You color a little and smile. “I could,” you agree, “and I have, when I’ve had people willing to listen. Mostly, though, I serve as a guard for the Ironworks.” You blink, then sigh a little. “I told you that already. Forgive me- I barely know what day it is.”

“Don’t apologize!” G’raha ducks his head guiltily. “I should, for keeping you from your rest. Perhaps we can speak at greater length tomorrow? There’s so much I wish to hear about- and to speak of as well! History is my passion.” He smiles and looks up at the Tower, then back at you. “Thank you for the journal. I’ve had enough sleep to last me a good long while, I should think- I will go read through it.”

You want him to stay longer, you _do_ , but you don’t want to make an idiot of yourself, either- so you nod and he rises, and you do as well. “I’ll see you soon, then,” you say. “I’ll get a couple bells of sleep in before it’s my turn to stand watch.”

“A couple-?” G’raha’s brows come together, but he relaxes and nods. “All right. Rest well, then.” He smiles at you again, then turns and leaves- and you, with what little energy you have, crawl into your tent and beneath the blankets. You are asleep within seconds of closing your eyes.

Unfortunately, you’d only been asleep for a little while when you hear your name being called- _urgently._ You groan softly and push yourself up, then stumble out of your tent- you sleep fully clothed, save your boots, which you stuff onto your feet. Ilfoix is the one who’d called you, and his lips are pressed together. “Forgive me, but it can’t wait. It’s Dezo’ir.”

That wakes you like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, and your ears pin to your skull. “Gods,” you breathe.

“Come. There’s not much time.” Ilfoix gestures for you to follow him, and the two of you away from your tent and toward the makeshift infirmary where Dezo’ir has lived for the past few days. The flaps are closed, and the two of you duck inside to find a small group kneeling around the stricken Keeper’s cot- even G’raha is there, though he’s keeping a respectful distance. He looks horrified, and you can’t blame him. You hurry over and a couple people scoot away to give you space. Ilfoix stands beside you, and the two of you crouch down beside him. “I brought them, Dezo’ir,” the dragoon says gently.

Dezo’ir slowly opens fever-bright eyes and looks at you, and he manages a small smile. “Ah, there you are,” he says shakily. “Listen- I’m leaving soon. Tell me… what was the Tower like?”

You blink and take a slow breath, and then you describe it to him as best you can. You’re sure the others have done the same, but he wants to hear about it from everyone’s unique view- he’s always been that way, asking six people for the same story. You tell him about the staircases and the pools of clear water, and you tell him about the winding hallways… you tell him about the beautiful room where you’d found G’raha, describe the constellations and the delicate lines of gold interwoven. “So,” you say, your voice rough and hoarse, “we’re one step closer to our goal. You’ll be watching, won’t you?”

Dezo’ir smiles. “Of course- I wouldn’t miss it. I’ve been at this since I was a kit.” He grimaced, and the healer- or what passed for one- quickly came over to him and looked at the others.

“That’s enough,” she said, her voice gentle and firm. “Go on, all of you.”

You go to rise, but Dezo’ir catches your hand, and you look at him in surprise. “Stay,” he says softly. “Sing me a song.”

You don’t know if you can, Twelve help you, but you nod and crouch back down.

It’s a bell or so later when you walk out of the tent, eyes red and swollen- your voice is mostly gone, thanks to the strain of trying to sing and hold back tears at the same time. Ilfoix is seated nearby, and he hops up and quickly rushes over to you, then wraps you in a hug. “Come on,” he murmurs. “To bed with you.” You let him lead you along, not really noticing much of anything- the one thing you do, is a pair of bright ruby eyes that glisten with tears as their owner watches you go by. You don’t say anything to him, not to the others who’d lingered, not even to Ilfoix- not even when he tucks you into your bed and sits watch over you. You only hope that _next_ time you wake, it will be to better news- or at least, not any _bad_ news.

You’ve had enough of that to last you quite some time.


	2. mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so, so much for all of the comments and encouragement! I'm glad you're all enjoying this so far :Db I can confidently say I know how it's going to end, and that's helping me move it along.
> 
> See the glamour referenced in this chapter here: https://aetherstitch.tumblr.com/post/189616416504/dont-want-your-hand-this-time-ill-save
> 
> and come yell at me on Twitter: @aetherstitch

Ilfoix is gone when you wake up, and it seems brighter outside. You have _no_ idea what time it is, and you lay still in bed for a moment before slowly peeling yourself out of your blankets. The group will burn Dezo’ir today, most likely… like you, he had no family save the one he’d created for himself- the Ironworks. You’ll make sure his ashes get home, though- home to Dravania, to the Great Gubal Library, which is where you’ve all set up shop.

You give the flaps of your tent a withering look. You don’t want to get up- you’d rather just stay in bed and put the pillow over your head. Maybe things would get better by the time you came out.

With a sigh you walk out of your tent, then jump a little to see G’raha by the fire. He looks up and smiles to see you up, but his expression changes to one of worry. “Good morning,” he says. “Ilfoix asked me to keep vigil when he had to go seek his own bed- you’ve been out for at least twelve bells. The others want to go ahead to the Tower, but I bade them wait, seeing as how I figured you would want to come with us. Oh! I made you some tea. It’s not very good, but I’m not the best cook, and…” He trails off, ears slowly flattening. “… sorry, I tend to ramble on,” he mumbled, offering you the mug.

Somehow, just seeing him makes you feel better, and you chuckle wearily and take the mug from him. “Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. It’s bitter and thin, but it’s hot, and at this point that’s really your only litmus test for palatability _._ “… and thank you for keeping watch.” You look at the sky. “Biggs is going to be furious with me for missing my own, though- damn!”

G’raha shakes his head. “I did it for you,” he says with an easy smile, gesturing to the bow strapped to his back. “I’m an excellent shot- and it’s the least I can do.” His smile fades, and he bites his lip. “I’m sorry, for the loss of your friend. Words cannot express…” He trails off and looks around, then presses his lips firmly together. “Forgive me,” he breathes. “Just know that I am very sorry.”

He knows how you feel, you think grimly. It doesn’t matter how long ago it happened, to _him_ it may as well have been yesterday. You smile faintly at him and gesture to the log, and he looks surprised- but he sits back down, and you join him. “I’ve known Dezo’ir for… ah, gods- ten years now, I suppose. Maybe more, I don’t know.” You look up at the sky, then down again as you take a drink. “… had I been the one to find him, I would have given him mercy. Letting him linger like this… but he wouldn’t have asked for it, that’s not his way.”

He is quiet for a few breaths, looking into the fire as though it will answer the questions he’s afraid to voice- but he does, eventually. He looks back at you, expression carefully blank. “Does this happen often?”

You nod slightly. “It does. Coming here was very dangerous. We’ve cleared out a lot of the surrounding area, but that’s why we have so many guards. Dezo’ir was on patrol when this happened. His partner was killed. We found the beast that did it and dispatched it, but it wasn’t about vengeance or… or anything like that.” You shake your head, ears down. “There’s no sense in those feelings. It’s energy better spent elsewhere. Dezo’ir was gentle, he was kind- this world…” You stop, hot tears welling in your eyes, and you shake your head quickly. “He wasn’t suited for it,” you finish roughly, and you down half your mug in one gulp.

G’raha’s ears fall back and he looks at the fire. “This place…” He trails off and shakes his head. “They- they never would have wanted this, _never._ Seeing that poor man suffer and die like that, Azeyma, you… you don’t even have a healer! Are there none left at all?”

“Some.” You shake your head slightly, looking at the fire as well. “The one we had was his partner. He tried to save them, but couldn’t. The monster was too strong, and it caught them both off guard.” You try not to think about how long he’d lain there with the body of his beloved. Bad enough knowing he’d seen them die.

“I… I see.” G’raha studied the ground, and when he looked up, there was a determined glint in his eyes. “There may be little I can do for this world other than try to save it by saving the Warrior of Light, but there is yet something small that may help. When you’ve had a chance to wake properly, let us away to the Tower. I have a couple of ideas.”

You blink, then tilt your head, one ear flicking curiously. He’d commented on the sorry state of your armor before, and you presume that’s what he’s referring to. “Ah… we’ve already asked enough of you- don’t feel like you have to do more.”

G’raha smiled and shook his head. “Have no fear. There’s much and more to be done ere this plan can be put into action, and there are immediate needs that I- and the Tower- might be able to address. I can’t, in good conscience, not offer to help.”

You hesitate, then smile faintly and nod. “All right,” you say. “I’m sure the others will appreciate it as well. Thank you, G’raha.”

The two of you sit quietly for a little while- there’s nothing uncomfortable about it, you are both simply lost in thought. You are thinking about Ilfoix and his admission to being frightened at the idea of facing the end, but you, yourself, are peaceful. Even if you should fall beforehand, you’ve made a difference, and you know Dezo’ir felt the same- as did his partner. You don’t remember their name, and that grates on you, seeing as how you’d known _him_ for so long… you’d just never met them until a few weeks ago, and had only seen them in passing. You sigh and finish your tea, and G’raha looks at you and rises. You stand as well, and he smiles. “I must admit, being able to look someone in the eye at eye level is _very_ refreshing,” he says, a little amused. “For once, I’m not the smallest.”

You laugh. “No,” you admit, “you’re not, and I agree. Ilfoix is so damn tall that I practically have to climb him to look him in the eye.” You shake your head and flick your ears- it feels _good_ to laugh, and you do so seldom that you know your compatriots would be shocked that this man, this _stranger,_ had coaxed it from you so easily. It fades quickly enough, though, and you nod to him. “Do you want me to go get him?”

G’raha tilts his head. “Well… not yet. To be truthful, I, ah, I’m not _entirely_ sure where to start looking.” He pauses, then lifts his chin. “But I will be! All of this knowledge was imparted to me while sleeping, and it’s rather like a dream that’s on the edge of my mind. It will become clear once I’ve some time to orient myself in the Tower. I would prefer it if we went alone, simply to save time.”

“All right. Just a moment, then.” You duck back into your tent and retrieve your sword, then walk back out and strap it to your back. He, you note, looks eager- his ears are up and his tail is swishing back and forth. You smile faintly. “Excited to learn more about the Tower?”

“Less ‘learn’ and more ‘remember’,” he says, “but- yes, quite.” He turns and looks up at it. “… I will tell you the story as we go.”

You nod. “We’ll tell Biggs first,” you say, “and then head back.” You lead G’raha away from your tent and toward the command center, which is honestly just a tent about twice the size of yours. The flaps are open, and you can see Biggs sitting inside with a couple of others, going over what looks to you like some sort of mechanical schema. They all look up when they hear you coming, and Biggs smiles.

“Well, well,” he says, “look who’s rejoined the waking world. It’s good that you got some rest- after… well.” He shakes his head a little. “You’re all right, then?”

“I’m fine,” you say with a quick smile. “G’raha wants to go back to the Tower and poke around, so I’m going to go with him.”

Biggs looks surprised, then thoughtful. “I was wanting to make for Dravania, or at least begin to, within a few bells- but we can wait.” He looks at G’raha curiously. “Did you think of something you needed?”

“I did.” G’raha nods and gestures to you. “As I’ve a volunteer to accompany me, I thought now might be the most opportune time- as you said, we’ve much to discuss yet, and it occurs to me that I need to spend at least some waking time in the Tower ere we depart. A vast wealth of knowledge was imparted to me while I slept, and yet it hasn’t settled as things I simply _know-_ not yet. Once I’m able to sort through what will be useful for our cause, we can be off.”

Biggs pauses. “I’d rather a larger group go with you,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll assemble a few people and then you can be off. I would rather not risk you, Master G’raha.”

G’raha’s eyes widened a little, then he sighed and crossed his arms. “And thus does history repeat itself,” he muttered. “Very well, but I assure you, there is no safer place for me than the Tower itself.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Biggs shakes his head. “You’ve seen what these monsters can do. I’ve no doubt you’re an able fighter, but if one of the big ones gets it in its head that you two look like a good meal, you won’t be able to do much about it.” He rises and gestures to the two others in the tent. “Go fetch your weapons. The five of us should be enough.”

You and G’raha go back outside, and you look at him and tilt your head. “What do you mean, history repeating itself?”

“Oh!” G’raha looks at you and smiles sheepishly. “Well, when first the Warrior of Light cleared the Tower, I wanted to go with them- _badly._ Rammbroes, the leader of the expedition, refused on the account that my knowledge would be necessary for Cid Garlond’s research… but truthfully, it was because he was worried that I couldn’t handle myself. Next to the Warrior I’m sure it seemed that way, but, ah… I _so_ wanted to go…” He trailed off and looked back toward the Tower, ears down.

You glance around the camp, then grin a little and take his hand. “Come on,” you say. He looks at you in surprise, and you tug him along behind you. You’ll get an earful for this later, but right now you aren’t worried about it- and you know there aren’t any huge monsters lurking near the Tower because you and Ilfoix have taken care of them all. Maybe it’s a little reckless, but it’s worth it when he laughs happily and follows after you. It isn’t all that far, in any case, and the two of you reach the doors to Syrcus Tower in one piece and without a hint of trouble.

He looks at you, breathless and grinning ear to ear. “You like to push the rules,” he observes “I didn’t expect that.”

“No?” You pause to catch your breath, then chuckle and shrug one shoulder. The hallway you’re in is lovely, in any case, and you’re interested in the patterns on the walls- that gives you something to focus on instead of the strange feeling slowly welling up within you that says something isn’t quite right. “I suppose I am.”

Biggs and the others catch up shortly, and as you’d expected he isn’t thrilled with you, but he just rolls his eyes and shoos you both on ahead. “We’ll poke around some while you do the same,” he says. “It’s as good a time as any to put the Chief’s notes into research.”

G’raha nods. “The entirety of the Tower is open to you,” he says. “… at least, as much as Cid would have seen. There are, of course, many parts that the Warrior didn’t have time to clear out. We were more worried with making sure it could be sealed before it fell into the wrong hands.” He looks at you and smiles. “Come! I owe you a story.”

You blink, but you follow along amicably up the _long_ staircase. Thankfully, as he is your size, it’s much easier to keep pace with him than it was with Ilfoix. You look around, then look at him and tilt your head. “A story?” you ask.

“Aye.” He looks ahead and smiles. “Both of my eyes are red now, but when I was born, one was blue. The royal blood had thinned to nearly nothing, and during the expedition is when I learned of my heritage. I obeyed Rammbroes that day, though I was irritated by it- but once Emperor Xande was defeated and the covenant he’d made with the Cloud of Darkness brought to light… I would have no such forbiddance. I explained my thoughts and wishes to the Warrior, that they might understand what drove me so relentlessly- and they did, in the end. I accompanied them into the Void itself to rescue Doga and Unei, but instead, they bestowed their blood upon me- thus, I am now the Tower’s keeper.”

“Seems like a lot to put on someone,” you murmur, frowning a little. “You left everything you knew- but why? I know what Cid wrote, I’ve read it dozens of times- I want to hear what _you_ have to say.”

G’raha smiles faintly. “Why indeed,” he murmurs. “Well, at the time, and I am sure you know this, there were two choices- destroy the Tower, more or less, or put it into a deep slumber and render it inaccessible. Princess Salina wished for it to be a beacon of hope when she passed her blood on to my own forbearer; thus, I decided to honor her wish. It was truly the only option I had.” He pauses, and his smile fades as his ears slowly droop. “… but inside, I was dying- or at least, it felt like I was. You’re right… ‘tis a lot to put on someone’s shoulders. I bore it willingly, but I… well. It cost me a great deal.” He smiles faintly and shrugs. “I loved them, and I never told them. Never once did it occur to me that they were anything less than invincible. Finding out otherwise has been difficult.” He paused, then colored. “Ah! I shouldn’t be burdening you with all of this- you barely know me. Forgive me, I am rather an open book, I fear.”

You shake your head. “Don’t apologize,” you say. “It’s better to get it out, isn’t it? Besides… I’m glad to listen. There’s not much I can do, but…”

“You’ve done plenty.” He smiles and shakes his head. “You were the first person I saw when I woke- it was good to see a friendly face. … ah, although the others are too, of course.” He pauses, then sighs. “I should clean up the mess I made of my hair, too. I didn’t do a good job with it- it’s still too long.”

“Let me,” you offer. “I’ve a dagger, we’ll use that instead of my greatsword. I’m afraid you’ll cut your neck!” Inwardly, you’re pleased- and warmed, oddly. It’s good that he’d been glad to see you, even if it _was_ because it was probably good to see a miqo’te like him- and of his size- before anyone else.

He grins and nods, ears wiggling. “All right, and thank you,” he says. “A bit past my shoulders is how I prefer it.”

By then the two of you have reached the lovely room with the constellations, and you head back into the room you found him in. He blanches at the hair on the floor, then huffs a little- and you laugh again. “Forgot, did you?” you ask, amused. “Here, sit. We’ll just clean it up all at once.”

“I didn’t forget,” he protests. “I just… put it out of my mind.” He sits obediently, though not in the piles of hair he’d left from when he woke, and you kneel behind him and carefully comb through his hair with your fingers to ease any tangles out that would make it uneven. “I appreciate your help,” he murmurs. “Back then I’d have just gone to an aesthetician when I had a moment, but…” He trails off.

“None left,” you say, but you’re smiling even so. “That’s all right. The benefit is that we all know how to cut hair, and while it may not look as good as it did then, it’s quick and easy.” His hair is soft, you note, and clean- _you_ haven’t had a bath in a good long while. You’ve cleaned up as best you can, of course, but there aren’t many options in Mor Dhona. You feel almost bad for touching it, but he is content to let you, and so you begin to carefully trim his hair. “You did make it fairly uneven,” you observe.

He chuckles, ears flicking a little and angling toward you. “No surprise,” he says. “I’ve never cut my own hair before, and besides, it was a _mess._ I suppose I could have used one of the walls as a mirror, but…”

You hum softly. “There’s one out in the next room,” you say. “It’s in the back, on the little dais. I, uh… noticed, when I came in.” You’d seen your reflection and had been rather ashamed of how you’d looked. “Once I’m done, go see if it’s how you want it.”

“That’s a portal, not a mirror,” he says, ears wiggling a little in amusement. “It’s a scrying window as well. … so, I suppose in essence, you aren’t incorrect.”

“Scrying?” you ask, flicking your own ears as you pause to peer around and look at him curiously. “… can you see _anything?_ ”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose so,” he says slowly. “Why don’t we have a look once you’re finished? I, ah- I’m sure I can figure it out quickly enough!”

You smile and nod, and then return to your task. It doesn’t take you too long to even out the mess he’d made, and it’s down to his collarbone or so. “There,” you say, satisfied. “What do you think?”

He reaches back and touches it, then turns to look at you with a bright smile. “It’s perfect,” he says happily. “Thank you, truly- it’s a small comfort that I am, more or less, as I was when I went to sleep.” His smile fades a little and he looks down at the floor, then he hops up and stretches. “Now, then, about that portal…”

You follow him out into the constellation room, as you’ve begun thinking of it, and walk with him up onto the dais. The portal is big, and it easily reflects the both of you- and you resist the urge to grimace. You look more of a mess than you’d thought, and you’re uncomfortable. The difference between the two of you is stark. If he notices, he doesn’t show it- he seems to be looking beyond your reflections, and his ruby eyes catch the light as he lifts his hand to activate it. Your eyes widen a little at how it immediately responds to his command, and you look around the room and press your lips together a little before you look back at him, tail slowly swishing back and forth. He’s so easy to talk to that it’s also easy to forget how _powerful_ he is.

“Let’s see,” he muses. He pauses, then lifts his hand again and calls forth an image of what looks to be a city at the base of a mountain. His ears flick and he smiles happily. “Sharlayan,” he says warmly. “It’s far north of here, so it would be untouched by Black Rose. It does my heart good to see that it still stands.” He studies it for a moment, then hums. The image changes, this time to one you recognize- Revenant’s Toll. The city is mostly in ruins, the aetheryte long destroyed, and his expression falls.

You shake your head slightly. “Don’t look anywhere around here,” you say quietly. “Don’t look at the Shroud, at La Noscea- just … don’t.” _You_ know what he’ll see, you’d just rather _he_ not. The Shroud has become an awful, twisted mess of dead trees and horrifying monsters.

He looks at you and smiles sadly. “I have to,” he says. “I have to _know,_ and I have to know where I can go to find more information on the Warrior’s journeys from the time I went to sleep. They’ve undoubtedly done so much… I don’t want to risk undoing any of it, not if I can help it. … but… thank you, for your concern.” He looks back at the window and takes a breath, then visibly braces himself.

You stand silently, looking at image after image of the ruined world. There are places you see hope, however, and he sees them too- he seems to brighten just a little when he sees people gathered ‘round campfires, singing songs and telling stories as children run around within the light’s border. Image after image, and then you blink when you see your own reflection. He must have stopped using it, but you don’t see _his-_ just yours. You think that whatever he’s looking at, is probably not meant for your eyes. You look at him instead, and start a bit when you note that he’s looking at the portal in wide-eyed shock. He waves at it quickly, and his reflection reappears next to yours as he breaks the connection. “Are you all right?” you ask worriedly, wondering what could have garnered such a reaction.

“I… y-yes. Forgive me.” He looks at you, and there’s something in his eyes that speaks of what he’d seen- whatever it was, he’s visibly shaken. “Come, there’s more to do before we can get moving, and I, for one, am wholly invested in making certain we’re able to travel safely.” He smiles at you and motions for you to follow him- he is doing his very best to put up a strong front, and you follow after him without another word… though you do glance back at the portal, once.

He seems to relax once you’re out in the hallway and heading toward another branch that Ilfoix had gone down when the two of you had split up, though he doesn’t say anything- he’s still deep in thought. Your ears catch the sound of running water and perk, and sure enough, around the bend is one of many pools that you’d seen throughout the Tower. “Ah, it’s lovely,” you say wistfully, looking at the clear water. “… but, you’d think after all this time, the whole place would be flooded.”

That amuses him, and he grins and shrugs. “It’s _magic,_ ” he says, lifting his hands and wiggling his fingers- you laugh, and he wiggles his ears. “Ah, but that said- do you want to take a swim? It’s perfectly safe- you can even drink it. I had a mind to fill a few canteens before leaving, since I noticed the water that you have with you is…” He trails off.

“Disgusting?” you ask, and he looks a little guilty- but he nods. “It is. Fresh water is next to impossible to find in Eorzea- that’s why most of what there is to drink is wine or ale. I can’t say that’s much _better,_ but it’s something.” You look wistfully at the water, then at him. “… you really don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” He smiles warmly. “I’ll join you, in fact!”

You aren’t about to ask if he’s sure or wait around- you toe your boots off and start working at the clasps of your armor. You only hesitate briefly when you remove it, and you can feel his eyes on you- the shirt you wear beneath it only qualifies in spirit, because it’s so ragged and torn that it wouldn’t be wearable alone. You remove it gingerly so as not to add any new tears to it, then shimmy out of your breeches before diving in wearing nothing but your smallclothes. _Those,_ at least, are free of holes… at least where it matters.

The water feels _incredible,_ cool and refreshing and almost soft against your skin, and you undo the strap that binds your hair and toss it onto the floor by your clothes before ducking under and vigorously scrubbing at your hair. It would be better if you had soap, but even rinsing it is going to be a vast improvement over what it was. You surface reluctantly to breathe, then push back from the wall and glide through the water with your arms spread. “Ah, this is so nice,” you murmur. You look at G’raha, who’s pushing his hair back from his face, and you smile- he looks a lot different with his hair back like that, but you presume you do as well. You’d honestly forgotten how good it felt to be clean.

“I love to swim,” he admits. “I spent hours in the lake back then, as well as in the ocean when weather permitted. I’m from a place very far north, and though it rarely gets warm enough… well- that rarely stopped me.” He grinned sheepishly. “My colleagues thought me quite mad, I fear.”

“I’m sure they did,” you reply, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin at the very thought of swimming in freezing cold water. You’ve done it, of course, voluntarily and _not-_ and it had never been anything close to pleasant. “Gods, how could you stand it? Cold water takes my breath clear away!”

He chuckles and tucks his hair over his shoulder- the water has turned it a deep, rich red, and it makes his bright eyes all the brighter. “I like the feeling,” he replies. “I don’t know, I can’t truly explain it- it’s always such a rush that I really can’t resist. I _prefer_ water that’s a comfortable temperature, I admit, but, well…”

You twist your expression into an exaggerated grimace, and he splashes water at you. “No, thank you,” you say, splashing back at him and grinning. “As for _me,_ my favorite thing is a hot bath. I’ve gotten to enjoy exactly four in my lifetime.”

His smile fades as though you’ve doused him with the freezing water he so loves- he looks startled. “Only four?” he finally asks hesitantly. “Is water so scarce?”

“Water and time,” you say, shaking your head. “Some of that is my own choice. I don’t like to linger if I can help it- time I spend idle is time I’m not in study, or honing my skills with my sword. That’s to nobody’s benefit, mine included.”

Just like that, his smile returns, and it’s like the sun has come out from behind dark clouds. “Ahh, yes- _that_ is a feeling I am well acquainted with. I have skipped many, many meals due to studying.” He rolls his eyes. “My colleagues used to say that this is why I’m as small as I am, but unless you’ve the same habit, I shan’t believe a whit of it.”

You smile a little. “I do love to read,” you admit- and you really do. Your issues with food are something quite separate. “… but I think it’s more to do with how we were born. My mother was small.”

He chuckles. “Mine, too,” he agrees. “My father as well, though rarely have I seen a man as fierce as he. He took his role as Nunh very seriously- he was undefeated for years.”

“I’ve read about it,” you say thoughtfully. “Seeker tribes, I mean. You won’t find many- _any,_ by that standard- now, but there are books that talk about their day to day lives. It seems, ah… _different._ ”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he replies, but he’s sobered a little. Everything you say is a reminder to him that his life has irrevocably changed, and there will be precious little he recognizes… if anything, now. Silence falls between you, and you wonder what he saw in that mirror of his that startled him so… but you don’t ask. 

You spend a little time just floating on the surface and looking upward, admiring the gold filigree that dances amongst the crystal, which is a thousand shades of blue and more. You wonder why G’raha’s eyes are red- you’d assume they would be blue, like the Tower- but you think they suit him as they are. You smile a little and close your eyes, and after a little while you sigh regretfully and swim back to the side. “We should continue on,” you say, hauling yourself out of the water and carefully squeezing it out of your tail.

“Ah, probably so.” G’raha lingers a second longer, then hauls himself out as well. He is built _exceptionally_ well- you don’t know anyone who looks like he does, but then again, with food as scarce as it is, most people don’t have the opportunity. You look reasonable enough, you think, but the faintest outline of your ribs is visible, and you can tell he’s noticed because he’s looking anywhere else.

You pick up your ruined shirt and resist the urge to sigh. Wearing dirty clothes when _you_ are dirty is one thing, putting them on _now_ seems unbearable. You’re about to use it to dry yourself off when you feel a stiff breeze, and you realize that you are entirely dry- you look at him in shock, ears standing straight up and tail fluffed out, and he puts a hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh. “Was that you?”

“I’m tempted to say no just to see how you’ll react,” he replies, laughing. “Aye, it was. Come, let’s continue- we’re not far from where I wanted to go at this point.”

You dress quickly- you’re well used to having to, after all- and wait for him to finish strapping his arm guards on, and then you both continue down the hallway. You flick your ears happily and smile, feeling worlds better with the grime mostly gone from your body. “Thank you,” you say, looking at him. “That was wonderful- I feel so much better than I did. I’m always a little worried that my fur will mat.”

He looks a mix of horrified and bemused, and he looks at your tail. It’s your pride and joy- the fur is soft and silky, at least as much as it can be. “That would be awful,” he says, wincing a little. “Has it before?”

“Ah. … yes.” You keep your eyes forward. “I didn’t always take care of myself. … there was a time that I didn’t care if I lived or died, and honestly I’m amazed I survived it. I met Ilfoix during that time, and he steered me right. He’s the one who told me about the Ironworks, actually.” You glance at G’raha and grimace. “There were parts of it we had to shave- my tail, I mean.”

G’raha blanches. “Azeyma forfend!” he exclaims. His tail is long, with thick, glossy fur- yours _might_ look like that, were you healthy enough for it. You can see why the idea horrifies him. He stops in front of a door and holds his hand up, and you see the air shimmer- the door opens for him, and he walks inside with the easy, confident air of a man who is at home in his surroundings.

Why should he not be, you think- this _is_ his home.

This room is not quite what you’d expected- in fact, it looks very much like a storage closet. A _large_ one, but still- filled with crates upon crates. You stare at them all, ears slowly drooping. “I hope you know which one of these to look in,” you murmur.

“I have… a fairly good idea.” He looks at you and grins sheepishly. “I won’t be long, I promise. Wait here for me.”

“All right.” You agree without protest, and lean against the wall by the door. The room is, like all the rest of the Tower, wrought mostly in crystal- but there are wooden shelves lining the walls, and what looks to be cupboards or wardrobes as well. You hear him rummaging around behind a few stacks of crates, and he grumbles and curses quietly- you grin and flick your ears.

After a little while he comes out carrying a bundle of what looks at first glance like fabric. You tilt your head curiously and he holds it out to you with a bright smile- one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Here,” he says triumphantly. “This is what I was looking for. Take it- it’s all yours. Put it on, and I’ll show you the rest of the surprise.”

“The wh-?” You look down at the bundle he’s thrust into your hands and your jaw hangs open. It’s _clothes,_ you realize, and _fine_ ones at that. “Oh- G’raha, I couldn’t possibly- these will be ruined, I…”

“Maybe,” he replies with a shrug- he’s very nonchalant about it. “What you’re wearing under your armor- _and_ your armor itself- aren’t far from it. These will serve you better. Go on- try them on!”

You hesitate over them for a moment, then sigh and smile. “You won’t take no for an answer, will you,” you say- and he grins and shakes his head. You roll your eyes, but your smile warms. “All right. … and thank you.” You walk behind another pile of crates and strip out of your armor and clothes again, this time stepping into what he’d given you- brand new, all of it, and the fabric finer than anything you’d ever seen. It fits you as though it was made for you, skinny as you are, and you bite your lip as you finish lacing the trousers and look down at yourself. There were even new smallclothes and socks! You take a moment to gather yourself, blinking tears away.

They’re warm. You’ve never had anything like this. _Ever._

After a few seconds you come out, dressed in black and red. “Well?” you ask, tilting your head. “What do you think?”

“ _Perfect._ ” He grins triumphantly. “It work- … er, they fit, I mean. And they fit well!” He grabs your hand and pulls you along, and around the crates he’d been digging in you see a new suit of armor on display. Your jaw drops all over again as your eyes widen. It’s the same black and red as your clothes are, but it’s worked in gold as well- you walk closer and hesitantly reach out to touch the sweeping coat, then draw your hand back before you can. This armor looks _incredibly_ sturdy- anything wanting to do you harm would have to work very hard to make that happen.

“I…” You swallow thickly. There are gauntlets and boots, too- thigh-high, made of black plate that seems to bend the light, the same as what’s on the breastplate of the coat. You bite your lip hard and take a breath, then look at him and shake your head. “I-!”

“If you’re going to say _I can’t,_ don’t bother.” He shakes his head and crosses his arms, looking for all the world like a teacher lecturing a particularly stubborn student. “You can’t keep going in what you have, my friend- it isn’t _if_ you’ll be hurt, it’s _when,_ wearing that. This will mitigate that risk.”

You suck in a shaky breath and let it out, finally daring to touch the shoulder of the coat. The cloak is the same fabric as your clothing. “Thank you,” you finally say hoarsely, bowing your head- you can’t quite look at him. You’d rather he not see you brought to tears over something so silly… though in your mind, it’s anything but. After a moment you lift the coat from its stand and find the straps, then fit it around your torso and strap it on. It goes on _so_ easily, the buckles aren’t stiff and rusted- same with the gauntlets, and the boots. You’d actually not expected those to fit, but they do, and they’re every bit as comfortable as your old, worn ones. You hesitate, then turn to face him.

He stares at you for a second, then wiggles his ears so hard you swear you can feel a breeze- and he _beams_. Your stomach does an impromptu somersault at the sight of him. “It looks wonderful!” he exclaims. “One last thing and then I’ll let you be, my friend- look there, to your right.”

You turn obediently and make a surprised sound- you’d not seen the weapon rack, entranced as you’d been with the armor. Your sword was in good shape, you were _always_ meticulous about it, but this one… it’s made of a metal that’s dark red in color, and you can’t even begin to imagine what it might be- something that’s not around anymore, you’re certain- it’s the same metallic red as on your sabatons. You reach out and lift it off of the weapon rack, and you’re not surprised when you find that it’s perfectly balanced. You heft it easily, though it’s very heavy, and you turn to look at him and bite your lip hard. “I’ve… never had anything close to this,” you finally say, your voice a little hoarse. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s my pleasure,” G’raha says, his voice gentle. He does look pleased as punch, ears up and tail almost wagging back and forth in his excitement. “Trust me when I say that I do this gladly. I’ve armor and weapons for the others as well, but they’ll have to come retrieve it… unless you’d like to help me haul these crates downstairs?”

“No,” you say immediately- and you both laugh, which helps break you from your confused musings, at least a little. You are overwhelmed and glad for the chance to focus on anything else, at least until he vanishes to don something similar. You swallow thickly and close your eyes, then open them again and look down at your hands, palms facing upward as though asking for succor or understanding.

You’re granted neither, but you think you’ve come a little closer.

Once he’s as well-armed as you are, the two of you leave the room and go to retrieve the others. “Ilfoix isn’t here,” you say, worried. “Do we have time to bring him here?”

“Yes, of course.” G’raha looks at you and smiles brightly. “I’ll see everyone in this expedition properly armed and armored ere we set out. After seeing what I saw in the scrying mirror, I’m not fond of the idea of taking chances.”

Ah, the mirror- and you’re reminded of seeing yourself alone in it. You tilt your head curiously, wondering if you should ask. You almost decide not to, but your curiosity gets the better of you. “What did you see, the last time you changed the view?”

He jumps a little and looks at you, clearly startled. His ears fall back. “W-well… what did _you_ see?” he returns.

You blink, unsure as to why that matters. “Myself,” you say. “My reflection, but not yours. Was it something I oughtn’t have seen?”

“… perhaps.” He looks ahead again, expression pensive. “I don’t know that I can explain it at present. I will do my best to answer your question later, once I’ve had time to process what it is that I saw.” He glances at you and shakes his head. “Pray do not think I’m brushing you aside, I just… I want to know more before I say anything, lest I speak out of turn and wind up in the wrong.” The two of you stop outside the constellation room, and he gives you a quick smile. “Fetch the others, would you? I’m going to clean up the mess I made of the study.”

“All right,” you agree amicably. You watch him walk inside and watch the door slowly close after him, and you stay where you are for a long moment before turning and heading down the hallway to obey his request. He is certainly mysterious, and enough of that for ten people- you don’t think they could unravel him, though, not if they had as much time as he’s been alive to do so. You wonder how old he is as you begin your descent, but you think he’s probably somewhere around your age- or would have been when he sealed the Tower.

You try to imagine having to make that choice, and you can’t.

Your boots sound different on the crystal, making your footsteps sound almost like faint chimes. Your step is sure, you aren’t at risk of slipping, but something about the metal, maybe, is what’s making that sound. You pause and lift one of your feet to examine it, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you shrug and continue on.

It’s probably nothing.


	3. reminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I sorta skidded across the finish line with this one, but it went a bit astray from what I'd had planned. I didn't want to transition too quickly into the next part, and I was afraid it would be jarring to just skip ahead, so! Have some more time getting to know everyone :Db
> 
> Come yell at me on Twitter- @aetherstitch
> 
> And thank you so much for reading/commenting! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Watching everyone else get their armor is fun for you, and you grin as they all admire themselves and the craftsmanship of it all. G’raha looks extremely happy with himself, and when you all leave the Tower for the last time and head back to finish packing up your camp, he is satisfied that the lot of you are in good shape and will be at least reasonably safe… as safe as you _can_ be, really.

He comes up to you as you’re hefting your pack, which holds the rest of your clothes- they’re in just as bad a shape as the ones you’d exchanged for what you’re currently wearing, but you can’t bear the idea of getting rid of them- and the books you’d brought, as well as the journal he’d returned to you after reading through it and the one you’d kept hidden. You’d written _pages_ in that one the night before, staying awake well beyond what you likely should have, but, well… the past few days have given you a lot to think about. Now, though, you focus on him- and he smiles at you as you strap your bedroll atop it. “You travel light,” he observes. “I can see why that would be, but… it surprises me that all of your camp can fit onto one cart.”

You shake your head. “Any more than that and Gerbera wouldn’t be able to haul it.” He raises an eyebrow, and you grin. “I didn’t name her. She’s all we’ve got, though, and we make sure she’s well-guarded. The tents, medical supplies, cooking supplies, and so on go in the cart- and we carry the rest.”

He nods. “That makes good sense,” he says. “Is there an outpost nearby where we might pick up an airship…?”

“There is,” you say with a quick smile, and he looks absolutely beside himself with relief. “Walking to Dravania would take too long, but we do have to get to Camp Dragonhead. That shouldn’t take more than two days. After that, we’ll catch the airship and head for Idyllshire, and thence to the Library.” You’re looking forward to sleeping in your own bed, such as it is- it’s nice, and it’s comfortable, but it’s mostly a mattress with a small pile of threadbare blankets on the floor in what might once have been a study room. You don’t care, though, because it’s _yours._

Ilfoix joins you and claps you on the shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asks, looking from you to G’raha. “Let’s quit this place and make for home. I’ve a craving for the spicy stew Bloebryda makes, and Fury be praised, it looks like we’re going to have reasonable weather for a change.” 

G’raha nods and looks up at the sky- it’s clear, and the sun is shining. “It seems an auspicious sign,” he says, looking back at the two of you with a smile. “Very well- I’ll go see if there’s aught I might be able to carry.”

When he walks away, you sigh a little and roll your shoulders before looking up at Ilfoix. He’s looking upward, studying the Tower, and you smile. “Thinking of all the wonders that await us?” you ask. “We’ve not seen but a fraction of it.”

“I know,” Ilfoix replies, shaking his head. “I lost track of how many locked doors I came across, and I’m fairly certain I heard movement behind more than one of them.” He crosses his arms. “We should clear as much of it out as we can before we send him on his way… it wouldn’t do for something to maul him while he’s trying to work. The Allagans didn’t exactly hold back on their experimentations, and after so many years I shudder to think on what those creatures have become.” He glances toward where G’raha had gone, then looks at you- and himself. “I admit I’m surprised at his generosity, considering what we’re asking of him.”

You pause, remembering what he’d seen in the mirror. “It benefits him to make sure we stay well,” you say slowly, “but it’s more than that. … he’s truly horrified at what the world has become. The Twelve know we’ve done our best with what little we have, but I watched him as he used what he called a scrying portal to look at places he remembered. Whatever he saw last is what bothered him the most, but I couldn’t see it myself, so I don’t know what it was- but he was very shaken.”

Ilfoix hummed thoughtfully. “Who’s to say? It could be that it wasn’t meant for our minds to grasp. The technologies Allag had back then are a marvel even to us, having figured out how to get the damn thing open in the first place. We know enough about it to be dangerous, but he knows _far_ more.”

You’re about to answer when you hear a voice calling for you and Ilfoix. The two of you look at one another, then walk over to join the rest of the group. “Are you ready to go?” A’mavo, a Seeker woman with short golden hair and wide golden eyes, asks- she always looks startled, somehow. “The chief and the others’ve got everything loaded up.”

“We’re ready,” Ilfoix replies with a quick nod. “Did Ovinne need more help with the healers’ tent, or did she manage?”

“She managed. Master G’raha helped her haul the last of it, in fact.” A’mavo glanced over her shoulder, then leaned closer to the two of them. “Should we really take him away from here? It’s risking _everything,_ and if we lose him…”

You glance over your shoulder at the Tower, then look at her and shake your head. “He wouldn’t stay even if we bade him to,” you say. “I don’t think there’s a force in the world that could keep him there. He loved the Warrior of Light.”

Her eyes widen, then fall half closed as she bites her lip. “Oh,” she breathes, ears drooping, “how awful…” She trails off, then looks at you again. “… but is that a good enough reason to let him come with us? Are you sure he wouldn’t wait?”

You don’t know him well enough to say, and you open your mouth to tell her that, then close it again and think of the look on his face when he’d told you that he’d loved them- and when he’d looked into the portal. “I’m sure,” you say softly. “He won’t wait.” You put a hand in the pocket of your coat, glad indeed for its warmth- you aren’t used to feeling this way, and it’s so cozy that you imagine you won’t take it off even to sleep. “He’s better off with us. We know what we’re doing and what this world is like.”

“That’s true.” Ilfoix frowns a little, then shrugs. “I don’t like the risk either, Mavo, but we don’t have much of a choice. The sooner we get everything he needs, the sooner we can build the Tycoon and set things to rights.”

The wind whistles through the crystal formations around you, and the three of you glance upward nervously before jogging the rest of the way to the cart. The weather is extremely unpredictable, and though it looks nice now, it may not stay that way- and you’re afraid of being caught in a storm. You’d rather everyone not see you in the midst of sheer panic, and aside from that, you’d _truly_ rather not have to worry about everything getting wet. Once you reach the cart, Biggs looks to you for acknowledgment that the rest of you are ready- and when you give him a thumbs-up, the driver of the cart, a Midlander named Cynric, gives Gerbera gentle cluck and touch of the reigns. You assume your customary spot to the back and left of the cart, keeping a sharp eye out for anything which might prove difficult to avoid, and you’re so focused that you jump a little when G’raha falls into step with you.

“Oh! Ah, forgive me,” G’raha says, smiling sheepishly and shaking his head, ears down a bit. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you say, giving him a quick smile in return. One ear swivels toward the landscape, and satisfied that nothing is lurking in the immediate vicinity, you are comfortable turning at least some of your attention to him. The rocky path before you is one you’ve traveled frequently; thus, you’re sure enough of your footing to give him the majority of your attention. “Thanks for helping with the healers’ tent. It serves us well.”

G’raha’s smile warms, and he nods. “Of course,” he replies, putting his hands behind his head as he walks. “It’s my pleasure.” He looks around, and his smile fades just a little. “It’s hard to believe that this is the same place I went to sleep in. … I’m sure you’ll tire of me saying so. There _are_ things that remain constant- the crystals, for example, are largely unchanged.” He strays a bit from your side and reaches out to touch one by the path, then returns to you. “The Warrior and I oft went exploring in the area when there were no breakthroughs to be had on the Tower.”

You smile, imagining him staring wide-eyed at the crystal formations as you had _your_ first time seeing them. “Had you been here before the expedition?” you ask curiously, tilting your head.

“No,” he says, shaking his head and smiling up at the sky. “I first set foot on Eorzean soil for that purpose alone. The Warrior told me much and more about it… and I can still see those places in my mind’s eye as they described them.”

He’d looked at them in the scrying portal, of course. You’d seen what they look like now, even the places you haven’t been before, and you feel vaguely ill when you think about it. “There are still places here that are beautiful,” you finally say, your gaze going straight forward as the cart makes its way up the winding path. “If we’ve any time… I’ll show them to you.”

He looks at you in surprise, then beams. “All right,” he agrees. “I would like that, very much. Thank you.”

The two of you don’t say much else as you walk to Revenant’s Toll, and once you pass through the ruined gates of the once-bustling city, you risk a glance at him. His jaw is set, and he is doing his very best to keep his gaze forward… but eventually his willpower falters, and as he glances around, his ears slowly droop to their lowest point. You feel awful for him. There’s just enough standing to give an impression of what the town must have been like before it was destroyed, but for the most part, there’s mostly rubble. Were the landscape different you might have expected to see nature beginning to reclaim the area, but it likely looks more or less as it did in the aftermath of its abandonment- stone scattered everywhere, save a path created mostly by the Ironworks shoving it out of the way just enough to make it through town. The buildings are crumbling, the elements having done more than their part to speed things along, and you wouldn’t dare go inside any of them nor try to climb any visible stairs.

Slowly, he walks to a building that was near where the aetheryte had been, and he puts his hand on the stone and looks up at what was left. He bows his head, then, and he doesn’t say anything, but you remember that the Warrior of Light and the Scions had been stationed in Revenant’s Toll- it must have been there. You glance over at the others, who are continuing on toward the northern exit, and you bite your lip before walking over to stand with him. He looks at you and smiles a little. “Ah… forgive me,” he murmurs. “I know we need to move.”

“There’s time,” you say softly, glancing upward. The sky is still clear, though the wind is blowing harder- you’re confident that he can stay here for at least a moment or two. “… at least a little.”

He smiles faintly at you, ears down, and looks back at the building. “This was a tavern,” he finally says, his voice soft and wistful. “It was called the Seventh Heaven, and behind it was the Rising Stones, home of the Scions. I came here many a time during the expedition for a drink and the chance to relax.” He falls silent, ruby eyes gazing into the past- and you wonder what he sees. A bustling tavern filled with laughing patrons and music? Perhaps the people within whom he’d gotten to know? There are certainly still places like that, few and far between as they are, and you consider taking him to the one you and Ilfoix go to in Idyllshire when you’re in the area. You glance again toward the caravan, then look at him with a small smile. You’re about to speak when he takes a breath and turns away, squaring his shoulders. “Right, then. Let’s continue on.”

You open your mouth to say something to him, then close it and bite your lip. There’s not much you _can_ say, really, so the two of you head on after the others in silence. You glance back, then look at him, your ears drooping. “Are you all right?” you finally ask quietly.

He’s quiet for a moment or two, thinking over how he’s going to answer. “I… I suppose I’m not sure,” he finally admits. “I think I’m still in shock. I know I need to adjust, and quickly, but…” He trails off, and then he looks at you again. “It isn’t coming easy.”

“It shouldn’t,” you say, and he looks at you in surprise. “Look around- the world isn’t even close to how you left it. I think would be more surprising if you _had_ adjusted quickly. I know… at least, I hope- things will get better, but for now…”

He smiles. “They already have begun.” He looks ahead again, this time looking toward the tall trees that loom in the distance as you head toward Coerthas. “The trees look… somewhat strange. I suppose that is because of Black Rose-?”

You nod. “They’re petrified, sort of,” you reply. “The whole Shroud is like that. It’s been said that if a means of restoring the flow of aether is found, it could possibly fix things- and it’s worked on a few trees here and there, mostly near Gridania. There aren’t enough people who care about trying to really know for sure, though- that’s the worst part, I think.”

His ears fall back as he looks at the trees again. “I’d like a closer look at some point,” he says. “I- there’s nothing I can do, I am certain, but the more I know about it the more help I’ll be to the Warrior, if all of this works and we can reach them ere this happens.”

“We’ll make sure you have it,” you say reassuringly. “We’ve got tomes and scrolls aplenty that have research into the effects of Black Rose documented- especially as the years have gone on. It _is_ reversible, at least over time.”

Coerthas is as desolate a place as Mor Dhona, perhaps more so because of the never-ending winter that’s plagued it since, to your understanding, the drop of Dalamud. The trees are in the same twisted sort of suspension as those in the Shroud, and you shudder inwardly as you walk. It grows colder with every step you take, it seems, and the further from Mor Dhona you get, the worse it gets. G’raha looks even more displeased, and he tugs his hood up to guard his ears against the wind as you continue onward. You do the same, though it doesn’t stay put- especially when you hear Ilfoix yell your name. You bid G’raha stay where he is and jog up to the front of the caravan, which has stopped, and you suck in your breath when you see why he’s called you.

“Twelve,” you breathe. In front of the caravan looms a behemoth, twisted nearly beyond recognition by the corrupted aether- it hasn’t seen you yet, but it will be only a matter of time. You draw your blade and look at him, then press your lips together and look at the behemoth. “Distract it, then?” you ask.

Ilfoix crosses his arms and studies it, then the land to either side of the road. “Distract it,” he agrees. “It’s the only way. I don’t think we can kill it.”

You don’t think you can, either, and you look up at him and nod. “I’ll do it,” you say. His eyes widen a little, and you smile and clap him on the back. “Go on. Guard the caravan, and I’ll catch up to you at Camp Dragonhead. I can travel faster on my own, anyway- I may even beat you there.” You won’t, of course- you’ll run the behemoth _far_ away from any settlements before you get away from it.

“Are you-?” Whatever Ilfoix was going to ask, he stops and sighs, then nods and claps you on the shoulder in return. “Be safe, my friend. We’ll wait a day for you to return.”

“I will, on both counts.” You glance back at the caravan, then look up at him and shake your head. “Keep an eye on G’raha. Don’t let him follow me! I can already tell that he’s stubborn, but he doesn’t know this place like we do.”

Ilfoix nods. “I’ll sit on him,” he says, turning back toward the caravan. He glances at you once more, then walks away. Neither of you say goodbye, not even _see you later._ You know better than that.

You slip away from the caravan and head into the trees, taking care as you go to make sure not to attract its attention early. That would ruin everything- worse, it would put the rest of the group in extreme danger. Your ears are perked straight up as you listen to your surroundings, and when you hear nothing else coming after you, you breathe a sigh of relief. It could be a lot worse- there could be more than one. Once you’re a safe distance away, by your judgment, you lift your fingers to your mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. The behemoth roars and whips around towards you- Twelve, it’s faster than it has any right to be!- and you take off at a dead sprint through the twisted woods. It’s following you, judging by the crashing you hear behind you as well as the occasional roar that shakes your very bones.

The trees give way to a deep ravine a few malms later, and you skid to a halt and look down before glancing back over your shoulder. There’s no real way of knowing how smart the creature is, and you grit your teeth in exasperation. “ _Fuck,_ ” you mutter before deciding to go left. If you’re lucky it’ll crash out of the trees and straight into the ravine, and that will be that- but you have a feeling it isn’t going to be that easy.

Things are _never_ that easy.

As you watch, however, the behemoth crashes through the trees and attempts to make a sharp turn, and its momentum swings its hindquarters around and into the ravine. It roars and scrabbles at the rocks, but slick as they are with ice and snow, it can’t get a grip- and it falls, landing with a sickening _crack_ at the bottom of the ravine. You hesitate before venturing closer and peering over the edge, then you sigh in relief. It won’t be coming after you, and you thank every single one of the Twelve before turning and heading back through the woods. The sun is starting to set, and you want to make it to Dragonhead before dark if you can manage- you should, you think, be just fine. The chase hadn’t lasted more than half a bell- closer to a whole, maybe, judging by the sky. Another glance up shows you that there are clouds beginning to billow up in the east, and you grimace as you make your way through the forest. The behemoth would have scared most everything else off, but you are still cautious as you follow the track of cracked and broken trees and brush it had left in its wake.

By the time you make it to Dragonhead, you see that the caravan has only just arrived and is getting things loaded onto the airship. You hurry up to help them, but before you can so much as bend down to grab a crate, you hear your voice. “There you are!” Ilfoix calls, hurrying over to you and clapping you on the shoulder. “Well done! I knew you’d be back quickly.”

Another figure darts around from the side of the cart- G’raha, looking a mixture of worried and relieved. “You’re all right?” he asks, looking you up and down. “You’ve not come to harm?”

You smile at both of them and nod. “I’m just fine,” you say. “Tired and cold, but fine. The behemoth’s taken care of- it skidded over the edge of a ravine. It won’t be back.” You look worriedly at the sky, then at Ilfoix. “Are we going to chance it?”

“Not tonight,” Ilfoix replies, shaking his head. “Should clear up tomorrow… hopefully. Until then there’s enough rooms for us all to double up in, maybe triple if needs be. We can get a hot meal, a good sleep, and then take off in the morning.”

You glance up again, then nod. “Probably for the best,” you say. “All right, then, tell me what you want me to do.”

Ilfoix rolls his eyes. “Sit somewhere warm, drink some tea, and recover. You just ran for two solid bells! You can’t think I’m going to let you push yourself even further now, right?”

G’raha nods in agreement. “He’s right,” he says firmly. “You’ve done enough. Go and rest, I will take care of your part.”

You pause, then sigh and shrug. “All right,” you agree. “I’ll make sure the rooms have been figured out, then.” Both of them smile, and you bite back the urge to sigh in exasperation. You’re in good shape, you can _easily_ run that long and help with loading the airship, but neither of them are going to hear it- so you turn and head into the main building of the garrison, which has been in House Fortemps for centuries.

The Lady of Camp Dragonhead, Ilbianne de Fortemps, rises and greets you with a sharp salute- and a smile. “Welcome,” she says warmly. “Master Biggs came in briefly, but said he’d send one of you to manage the rooms. That will be you, I presume?”

“That’s me,” you reply, bowing at the waist and then looking at her with a smile and a flick of your ears. “You’ve got space for us, I hear?” You certainly hope she does, otherwise you’ll all be bedding down in the common room- and that won’t make for a restful night.

“You’re in luck, seeing as how the last excavation group that was here just left. We’ve plenty of rooms, and they’re all at your disposal. The cooks are nearly finished with supper, so once everything is loaded, you can eat.” Ilbianne puts a hand on her hip and gestures toward the barracks, which is the building to the left of the command center you’re currently in. “Feel free to take your pick.”

“Thank you, Ser Ilbianne,” you say gratefully- the idea of a warm bed is probably more appealing than it ought to be. “There’ll be six rooms, then?”

“Yes.” Ilbianne nods. “All six are open. You’ll be bunking together, I’m afraid, but you’re a close-knit lot- it shouldn’t be a problem, I hope?”

You chuckle softly and shrug. “We are,” you agree. “No problems so far, anyway, and our newest addition seems to be faring well enough.” G’raha, you think, can stay with you- and Ilfoix as well, if needs be. “All right, then, I’ll let the chief know. Thanks again.”

Once back out in the cold, you shiver and hurry over to the airship landing. You’d like to be in front of a hearth as soon as you possibly can be, and so you find Biggs keeping careful track of everything being loaded onto the airship. He looks at you and smiles warmly, clearly glad to see you. “Well, well, if it isn’t the behemoth chaser,” he says. “Thanks t’you we made it unscathed, and full glad am I to see that you did as well.”

“It’s not a problem,” you say, smiling and shrugging. “That’s my job. Anyroad, the rooms are ready- we can faceplant into bed as soon as we feel like it. Six free rooms. Ser Ilbianne said supper’s nearly ready, too.”

Biggs makes a few more checkmarks on his list, then nods and grins. “Sounds good t’me. I’m looking forward to a hot meal and a proper bed. We’ll set out in the morning, weather permitting, and if not, well… we’ll wait until it is.”

A quarter bell or so later, you find yourself in front of the hearth with Ilfoix, G’raha, and A’mavo. The others are scattered nearby, and you think a couple have already gone to bed- you want to eat first, and your ears are perked as you listen for any sound that might indicate the stew is ready. A’mavo is peppering G’raha with questions about before, and though he seems content to answer her, he glances at you every now and then. He’s probably tired of her asking, you think, and you start to say something, but Ilfoix beats you to it.

“Do scholars ever stop asking questions?” the dragoon drawls, long legs spread out in front of him as he lounges in his chair.

“Scholars are supposed to ask questions,” A’mavo shoots back, ears flicking. “It’s part of the job description, and besides, don’t pretend you aren’t curious!”

Ilfoix sighs and shrugs. “I don’t have the same obsession with yesterday as the rest of you,” he says. “What’s the point? It’s not coming back, and we’ve learned from it what’s most important, haven’t we?”

“Says who?” A’mavo stares at him incredulously. “You _do_ remember why we’re here, don’t you?”

“Oh, aye,” Ilfoix replies, raising an eyebrow. “I’m also fairly certain that hammering him with questions isn’t going to give you the answers you want. If he knew, he’d tell you.”

G’raha sighs faintly, then gives A’mavo a sheepish smile. “Forgive me,” he says. “I would certainly love to discuss this more later, but for the moment I would rather set my mind to the present- and to the future.”

A’mavo makes a ‘hmph’ sound, then shrugs her shoulders and smiles at him. “Well,” she says, “seeing as how we have to share rooms, I’m quite certain we could come up with plenty to discuss-”

Your eyes widen, then you sigh and put a hand to your forehead before glancing at G’raha, whose ears are standing straight up in shock. “He’s bunking with me,” you say, and the glance he casts you can only be described as _relieved._ “Sorry, A’mavo. In the meanwhile, have you heard anything about what the weather is supposed to do tomorrow?”

“How should I know?” she asks waspishly. “I’m a scholar, not a weather-seer. I’m going to go check on supper, surely it must be ready by now.” She hops up and stalks away, tail lashing back and forth.

Ilfoix gives a low whistle. “You’d best hope she doesn’t upend a bottle of pepper sauce into your food,” he says, clearly amused. “You _do_ know that she wasn’t likely to _discuss_ much, right?”

G’raha laughs nervously, ears back and tail fluffed. “W-well, no, probably not, and thus I am very thankful for your swift intervention.” He looks at you and smiles, eyes bright and intense in the low light of the room. “I am, ah… unused to such things, and looking as I do, well…” He trails off and rubs his neck self-consciously. “In any case- thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, and you change the subject quickly to spare him further embarrassment. Sharing warmth and comfort isn’t even a little unusual, but maybe it wasn’t like that back then. “I think I’ll take my food back to the room. I’m not sure how much I’ll get through before I fall straight asleep.”

Ilfoix nods, looking at you worriedly. “You do look tired. All right, then- I’ll keep her occupied, and hopefully she won’t try to sneak into your room in the middle of the night.” He’s kidding- mostly- and he grins a little before rising and stretching. “Come on, let’s fetch our servings and settle in. I, for one, am going to enjoy getting more than two bells of sleep in a row.”

You and G’raha stand and follow Ilfoix into the kitchens, and sure enough, the food is ready. You wait patiently for everyone else to get their portions before taking your own, and you take less than you probably ought to- which doesn’t go unnoticed. G’raha gives you a worried look. “Are you not hungry?” he asks.

You are, in fact, _starving._ “I want to make sure everyone else gets theirs first,” you say with a quick smile. “Some people will want seconds- it’s rare that we get a meal like this one.”

G’raha looks at your plate, looks at you, and then begins piling more food on. You go to protest, but he shoots you a look that says he thinks you’re being foolish, and so you just sigh and let him. You’ll eat it all, that’s certainly not an issue. “There,” he says, smiling brightly and wiggling his ears. “Now, then, let’s go back as you suggested. I imagine once you’ve eaten, you’re going to be out like a light.”

“With as much food as you’ve given me, it’ll be a miracle if you can wake me up at a reasonable hour.” You grin at him, though, and the two of you cover your plates and quickly make your way to the barracks through the near-blinding snow. Thankfully it’s not far, and you make it without incident- you’ve heard horror stories of people getting lost going very short distances, found when the blizzard dies out- in the same state, usually. Your room is at the end of the hall, and it’s quiet and comfortable, not to mention _warm._ There’s a fire burning cheerfully in the hearth, and you drop down in front of it with a weary grunt and uncover your food.

The two of you eat in silence for a little while, but then you feel crimson eyes on you and look up to find G’raha looking at you as though he wants to say something, but isn’t quite sure how. “You… today- what happened when the behemoth chased you?”

You blink, then take another bite. “Well,” you say after swallowing, “I led it on a merry run through the forest, and it took out a lot of trees along the way. I planned on just running it around and then disappearing, but I just about fell into a ravine when the forest opened up out of nowhere. I was able to get around- the behemoth, not so much.” You shrug. “It fell, and that’s that.

G’raha presses his lips together and looks down at his mostly empty plate. “… isn’t there more I can do?” he finally asks, lifting his head and fixing you with that intense gaze of his again. “I’m an accomplished archer- let me help you!”

You’re going to tell him that he’s going to be the one to save this miserable world, at least in some way, but you don’t want to offend him- and he would be, you think. You smile a little and tilt your head, flicking one ear curiously. “You want to fight with me?”

“ _Yes._ ” His answer is immediate, and G’raha leans forward a little. “I couldn’t- there wasn’t anything I could do whilst sleeping in the Tower, but now, _now_ I can make a difference- and hopefully make things easier on you and the others while I do.”

_Ahh._ He blames himself, you think- at least in some way- for having slept right through the calamity. You smile at him, and when you nod, his lips part in surprise. “I don’t mind,” you say, “but we’re going to have to convince the chief, and that’s not going to be easy at all. You’re all we have left- I know you know that, but…”

G’raha looks away, then laughs a little and shakes his head. “How the Warrior must have gotten sick of hearing that, back then,” he murmurs. “Well, so be it- this is what I am meant to do, I know it. Until such a time as I can do so, however… if I may fight by your side- truly, that is all I want.”

“I’m not going to turn my nose up at someone who wants to help.” You look down at your plate and take another bite, and he falls quiet- once your food is finished, he takes your plate and puts it outside the door with his own as you’d been instructed. You look up at him when he returns, and you expect he might flop down on his bed- but he doesn’t. He resumes his spot next to you, and you study him for a few seconds. “… are you all right?” you finally ask.

He gazes into the hearth and smiles faintly. “I’m better than I was, to be certain,” he says quietly. He looks at you and his smile widens. “Thank you- you needn’t worry about me. I am full glad that I can be of use at last.” He looks back into the fireplace and bites his lip, then takes a soft breath. “You- remind me of them, a little,” he says, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the fire. “I haven’t figured out quite why that is.”

You make a sound of surprise. “Me?” you ask, brows coming together in alarm. “Gods be good, I’m the furthest from heroic you’ll find- at least on that level.”

“You can’t be serious,” he says, looking back at you and raising his eyebrows. “You ran a corrupted behemoth through a forest and into a ravine, and you’re telling me you aren’t heroic?”

“I did what I had to,” you reply firmly. He pauses, then smiles softly, and you feel like you’ve played right into his hands. You grumble a little and look toward the hearth, then sigh and lift a hand to rub the back of your neck. “I’m just me,” you murmur. “Nobody special.” You rise and stretch, then head to your bed along the far wall. “Well, we should get to sleep- the Twelve only know what tomorrow’s going to bring.”

He rises as well, then blows out the lanterns, leaving the hearth the only light in the room. “Rest well,” he says simply.

You lay awake for a little while longer, staring at the ceiling and listening to his soft, even breathing. How _you_ of all people bring the Warrior of Light to his mind is utterly beyond you, but… from the way he sounded, he’d expected the answer you’d given him. You huff a little and roll onto your side, facing the wall. You’ve got no time for wool-gathering, not with things moving along as they are. He can think whatever he wants to.

… you just aren’t entirely sure how to go about changing his mind.


End file.
